


Like Spartans Do

by Queuetelle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Backstory, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Polyamorous Character, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queuetelle/pseuds/Queuetelle
Summary: “No, just, wait a moment,” Alfor stammered. “I didn’t know this was common practice for the Galra.”Zarkon blinked in confusion. “It… isn’t common practice,” he confirmed.“Then why did you touch me? Or am I misreading…?”Zarkon placed his hand back on his friend’s hip. This time, his friend didn’t flinch. “This is war. The Galra recognize that nothing is normal during war. It’s hard. When your body is worn and your soul weighs heavy, the only people you have to take comfort from are your brothers in arms. It’s foolish to push that comfort away.”





	1. A New Approach

**Author's Note:**

> What is the Alfor/Zarkon ship name? 
> 
> Also, I did zero editing. Enjoy!

Sometimes, a Voltron mission is a morning errand. You jump in the lions, you teleport somewhere chaotic, you save the day, and you come back to kiss your wife on the cheek at lunch.

More often, a Voltron mission keeps you away from your wife for days, maybe weeks. More often, a system of planets is buried so deep in their emperors’ civil war that it can take the better part of a year to pull them out. More often, flashing a giant defender of the galaxy isn’t enough to save the day.

More often, a Voltron mission involves gruelling, personal work which involves no lions or robots whatsoever.

\---

“More units are approaching,” Trigel’s voice rasped through the communicator.

“I see them,” Blaytz replied, breaking from the group to cover the team from behind. While the yellow, red, and black paladins blocked a hostile group of “imperial officers” from the small envoy behind them, the blue paladin guarded new incoming freights as they joined the line. Whenever an imperial officer tried to break through the shield of lions and attack the envoy, Gyrgan was there to take the blow.

“Caravan leader reports that they’ve almost reached the shields,” Trigel came through again. “Just hold them off for about five more minutes.”

“Understood,” Zarkon responded and skirted to a stop, wings haloed with purple light like an archangel of death. “Alfor, stay with me. Blaytz, when you finish adding the new freights to the envoy, merge back with us. Trigel—“

Before he could finish, an imperial vessel charged forward and slammed into Alfor dead-on, knocking the lion back hard enough to break the caravan they were guarding.

“Their line is broken, they’re scattering!” Trigel cried.

“Alfor, what are you doing?!” Zarkon cried.

In the chaos, Blaytz spun around and began herding the scattered freights into a single group. Those he couldn’t save were picked off by imperial vessels and hauled off via tractor beam, most likely to face prosecution and imprisonment. Those who were left were quickly shielded by Gyrgan and rushed to the safe zone, the blue lion keeping imperial vessels at bay. Around them, dislodged and broken supplies floated through space, clunking lazily against a disoriented red lion.

\---

Zarkon’s fist hit the stone wall hard enough to cause a small avalanche of pebbles. While Trigel, Gyrgan, and Blaytz flinched, Alfor stood tall and took the barrage.

“In what fantasy world were you living that you couldn’t see that vessel coming at you, Alfor?” Zarkon bellowed. “You’re the RED paladin, you pilot the RED lion – you’re faster than any one of us, yet even our slowest was able to see the vessel coming at you. What happened?”

There was a painful moment of silence before Alfor responded. “I was… distracted, Zarkon.”

The moment of silence afterward was even more painful. “Distracted?” Zarkon echoed.

Alfor didn’t say anything further. The black paladin leaned in to speak in a lower, yet somehow more intimidating voice. “Pull. Yourself. Together. We can’t afford to let this system’s rebellion get snubbed out now. They need us. They need you. Try focusing on that instead of… whatever else it is you’re preoccupied with.”

With nothing else to say, Zarkon stormed away from the group and disappeared into his lion’s cockpit. The rest of the paladins turned to look at Alfor sympathetically, but he didn’t meet their eyes. However, they could see that “distracted” didn’t even begin to describe what had happened to Alfor. His eyes were sunken, with dark rings underneath. He looked completely haggard, with his hair too long and his beard in need of a trim. He was tired, and probably worried sick – his wife, after all, was pregnant. Very pregnant. He’d been away from Altaea for many movements, with little to no contact with his home planet. They were all, of course, in the same situation, however. The paladins were all exhausted and homesick, and despite how badly he tried to hide it, they could tell it was wearing on Zarkon. They had never seen him yell at Alfor like that.

“Get some rest,” Alfor said and turned away from his team. Instead of going to his lion, he stood by the campfire. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

\---

Fantasies of his dearest Allura kept Alfor sane enough to handle each day in this hellhole. Though she was still unborn, he knew that the reward for finishing this mission was going to be the chance to see her birth. He thought of his wife, eyes downcast as he and his team entered their lions. Her fingers curled tightly in her maternity dress, knowing that it was possible that he wouldn’t be back in time to be with her. It made his heart ache.

Blinking a sudden dryness out of his eyes, Alfor realized that he’d been staring at the campfire far longer than he should have been. His teammates were currently sleeping in their cockpits, though he had a feeling that at least one of them was just as awake as he was.

As if responding to his thoughts, the red lion suddenly lowered her head and opened her maw, beckoning him inside. He smiled fondly. “I’m coming, girl,” he rasped and turned away from the dying fire.

\---

Through the viewport, Zarkon could see Alfor staring into the flames. Part of his heart ached with guilt for chewing him out, but a stronger part of him knew that it was necessary. Everyone was tired, everyone missed home – Alfor wasn’t allowed to jeopardize their mission with stupid mistakes just because he missed his wife.

His wife…

Zarkon’s thoughts turned to Honerva. He wasn’t worried about her; she was probably pouring over her research, as always. However, he itched to be beside her, supporting her.

He also itched to stand beside Alfor. His dearest friend was falling apart in front of him. Zarkon, personally, couldn’t understand why he couldn’t take strength from his compatriots. However, having been married to Honerva so long, he knew that Altaeans were the sentimental types. Duty wasn’t always the greatest comfort to them.

With a muffled whir of gears and machinery, Zarkon watched as the red lion opened her mouth and beckoned her pilot inside. However, after Alfor disappeared, he realized that the lion was not returning to her resting position. Instead, her mouth remained open, still beckoning.

A brief pulse from his own lion told Zarkon what he had to do. He stood up and marched toward the exit.

\---

Reclined in his pilot chair, sleep only barely eluded Alfor. He was exhausted, yes, but his mind was too cluttered to sleep. He counted the amount of days they’d been gone again, and again, rationalizing with himself that if they just held on a little longer, he could make it home in time to see the birth of his daughter.

The cockpit door opening startled Alfor out of whatever amount of dozing he had accomplished. He sat upright, chair snapping back into place. He turned to see Zarkon at the door, solemn and awkward.

“Oh. Come to yell at me more?” Despite his deprecating comment, Alfor’s gaze had softened. “How’d you get in?”

“She let me in,” Zarkon responded plainly. Alfor gave the general area of his lion’s cockpit a look of contempt. “Of course she did,” he responded.

“Look…” Zarkon stepped forward, hand gently outstretched. “You understand why I responded the way I did. We lost the rebellion three freights and hundreds of pounds of supplies. They’re depending on us, we can’t get distracted like that.”

“I know,” Alfor sighed as he rubbed his brow. Zarkon noticed, then, that worry lines were beginning to form on his friend’s forehead. “I know. I should have seen it coming, and I take full responsibility for our losses today. I’ll speak to the rebel circle personally about the matter, and… Look, I’ll handle it.”

Zarkon smiled slightly. “You’re a better diplomat than any of us, Alfor. I’m sure you’ll sweeten them up.”

“It’ll take more than sweetening up the circle to bring back the rebels who were arrested,” the king grimly replied. “If they’re executed, their blood is on my hands. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Zarkon reached out, then, and took Alfor’s hand for himself. He clasped it firmly, assuredly. “I know it doesn’t sound like it today, but I trust you to take responsibility. I know you.”

The warmness in the touch surprised Alfor. Suddenly, he felt like his muscles were melting. He was so tired. He leaned back against the control panel of the red lion, allowing Zarkon to push closer. “I miss her,” he murmured, eyes closing. “I miss her so much. She’s _pregnant_ , Zarkon, and I may miss the birth of our daughter. Our next queen.”

“I know,” Zarkon replied with surprising softeness. Then, his other hand reached out and settled on Alfor’s hip. The king jumped, startled, causing him to quickly pull the hand back. “Oh, if that isn’t—“

“No, just, wait a moment,” Alfor stammered. “I didn’t know this was common practice for the Galra.”

Zarkon blinked in confusion. “What didn’t you think was common practice?”

“Having… relationships,” Alfor eked out, gesturing with his hands. “You know, outside of your marriages.”

“It… isn’t common practice,” Zarkon confirmed, still confused.

“Then why did you touch me? Or am I misreading…?”

“Oh.” The quizzical look left Zarkon’s face. “I’m not aiming to marry you, Alfor. I’m only permitted one spouse. Our monogamy is only under normal circumstances.”

“This isn’t a normal circumstance?” Alfor asked, raising a brow.

Zarkon placed his hand back on his friend’s hip. This time, his friend didn’t flinch. “This is war. The Galra recognize that nothing is normal during war. It’s hard. When your body is worn and your soul weighs heavy, the only people you have to take comfort from are your brothers in arms. It’s foolish to push that comfort away.”

Alfor’s eyes scanned Zarkon’s for a long, long moment. Then, relaxing, he wrapped his hands behind Zarkon’s broad shoulder blades. “Well, as you know, we Altaeans—“

“Are often polyamorous, yes,” Zarkon finished. “I was going to ask you that next. Are you—“

“Yes, our marriage is open,” Alfor also finished. “But I promised to sire children only with her.” Then, with a smirk, “Sorry, Zarkon, I’m going to have to wear a condom for you. No hard feelings?”

“I won’t be taking it from you, Alfor,” the Galra suddenly rumbled, his voice low enough to make the cockpit panels vibrate against Alfor’s back. Before the Altaean could respond, Zarkon pushed his face into his neck and began to kiss and suck on the most sensitive part of the flesh. Alfor’s fingers dug into the ridges of the black armor, shocked by the roughness, though not deterred.

“Zarkon…!”

A deft finger pressed the air release valve on Alfor’s suit, causing the skin-tight armor to fall away from his body and slope down his shoulders. Alfor prodded around Zarkon’s body to return the favor, but the Galra had already taken the initiative. He pulled the armor from both their torsos and left it hanging at their hips, already pressing his rock hard, furry body against Alfor’s and exploring his naked flesh with clawed hands.

“Hey, now,” Alfor gasped. “You’ve got to let me do something!”

“I am your leader, I will handle this,” Zarkon growled against his shoulder, grazing his fangs against the dark skin. He paused when Alfor shoved his hand over his mouth in protest.

“Is that how your soldiers do it in the barracks?” the king laughed. “That’s a bit dominating for my tastes. Let me show you how Altaeans do it.”

“Whu—“ Before he could argue, Alfor threw his arms around Zarkon’s neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. The Galra quickly melted into it and pulled their hips closer, rolling his hardness against the other’s. The gasp Alfor let out against his lips caused him to growl. “Very well. You always get what you want.”

As their lips drew hungrily at each other, Alfor’s hand slipped into Zarkon’s body suit and found a thick, soft organ inside. His hands slid against the thinly-furred surface as he pulled it from the suit, creating a sensation similar to stroking a red-velvet rope. Despite the plush outer layer, however, Zarkon’s cock was too thick to wrap his whole hand around. It pulsed with a shocking amount of strength, reminding Alfor just how large and powerful his comrade was.

Zarkon balked for a moment, sensing Alfor’s bemusement. “It doesn’t have to—“

“Honerva can really handle this?” Alfor remarked. Heat suddenly rushed to the black paladin’s face.

“Alfor!” he cried in outrage. “I can’t believe you would— I never thought that you could—the NERVE of you to comment on my wife—“

“Relax! Relax, I’m sorry,” Alfor apologized, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean for it to be a nasty remark. I was... trying to be playful.”

“Oh.” After a moment, Zarkon drew his friend closer again. He closed his eyes, listening to Alfor’s rapid heartbeat. “Please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Alfor promised and grasped Zarkon’s member against his own. Both paladins’ eyes fluttered from the sensation. “I promise.”

Forgiving the king, Zarkon dove back in and pulled Alfor’s face into a kiss. Moaning, gasping, and whispering each others’ names, the two men rolled their hips against one another, their cocks creating precious friction between them. Alfor realized with amusement that the velvet layer of fur on Zarkon was actually a very pleasant feeling, though still too similar to a red-velvet rope to be taken seriously. Zarkon, in the mean time, marveled at how small and naked his long-time friend was. However, with vulnerability came sensitivity, and he soon realized that Alfor had become too enveloped in pleasure to continue kissing. He moved his lips to a place they would be better appreciated, raking his fangs against the skin of Alfor’s neck, drawing out a beautiful cry from the king. Zarkon felt excitement growing within him, as well, manifesting itself as deep and uncontrollable growls.

Soon overwhelmed with lust, the two merely grabbed each other tightly and buried their faces into each others’ shoulders as they ground themselves together. With curled fingers and strained voices, they came as one, Alfor sputtering feebly against Zarkon’s hip and Zarkon drenching his comrade’s stomach with cum. Alfor felt cat-like claws prick his back as his friend groaned loudly in release, both their bodies finally melting into pure exhaustion against one another. For several minutes, all they did was heave breathlessly and relish the feeling of orgasm.

When they finally cleaned up and re-dressed, Zarkon left Alfor looking happier and sleepier than he’d found him. He returned to his lion and sunk in the chair, falling asleep almost instantly to the proud pulsations of the black lion. Alfor, meanwhile, stayed up a few minutes longer, touching his bruised neck and for once thinking about something other than his wife.  


	2. Jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfor makes good on his promise to retrieve the prisoners taken during a failed supply drop mission.

The rebel circle was less of a circle and more of an arc, its numbers having dropped from nine representatives to five since the beginning of the rebellion. Today, the five remaining members of the circle took their seats beside each other at a large, ring-shaped table made of simple un-lacquered wood. While each tile of the ceiling bore a circular LED light, only one large, incandescent light bulb illuminated the hollow center of the table. Standing under the light, bathed heavily in warm shadow, stood Alfor, detailing his failure to the rebel leaders whose trust they had broken.

While Alfor spoke, Zarkon scanned the circle members. Since the start of the rebellion, four factions had had their freedom parties snuffed out by imperial forces. Their representatives were all imprisoned or dead, assuming that they weren’t being tortured for information at this very moment. What remained were five young, haughty soldiers who only barely knew how to lead a rebellion, trying desperately to fill in the shoes their predecessors had left behind. Zarkon could tell they were scared, but their fear was quickly alchemizing into rage. Though they listened quietly and patiently to Alfor’s report, the hateful gleam in their eyes told Zarkon that they were not going to easily forgive the Altaean king’s mistake.

After the report, the circle leaders deliberated among themselves in hushed tones and rapid-fire antennae movements. The tonal differences between antennae signs were so miniscule and nuanced in this system that neither Zarkon nor Alfor could fully determine what the leaders were expressing, but it could be easily concluded that the circle was determining whether or not to keep accepting Voltron’s help.

Alfor swallowed a lump in his throat.

Finally, the centermost circle leader spoke. Her antennae moved more slowly and with more precision, like one may speak to someone who could not understand one’s accent. “Before we make any decisions regarding the role of Voltron in our system’s rebellion, we have one question for you: what do you expect to do about the loss of our soldiers?”

Like the highly trained diplomat he was, Alfor didn’t stumble over a single word when he replied. “We intend to locate and rescue them.”

Zarkon narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t speak out. He didn’t quite appreciate Alfor making that decision for the team, but… well, it was something they were most likely going to do anyway. Alfor promising the circle that Voltron would save their imprisoned people guaranteed that Alfor wouldn’t have to ask Zarkon’s permission first. It was unsurprising. Alfor rarely asked Zarkon permission if he could help it.

“And how do you intend to do that, Your Majesty?” a rebel leader to the left of the initial speaker said, brows raised.

“Trigel managed to get the IDs of the vessels that attacked the supply envoy,” Alfor guessed, assuming that Trigel had done such a thing, which she absolutely had. “If she can figure out where they dropped off the rebels they captured, then we can figure out where they’re being transported. From there, we can organize a rescue mission.”

The circle leaders looked unconvinced, but willing to entertain the idea if it meant getting their people back. After further argument and deliberation, the circle released Alfor with a warning. The king warmly thanked them for their consideration and exited through a hinged slab in the table, between where two of the four missing leaders would have sat.

Zarkon stood up to meet Alfor with a sour expression, which he ignored.

\---

Trigel, as predicted, managed to get her hands on enemy intel and determine where the imperial vessels had taken the prisoners from the failed supply drop mission. From there, she determined where the prisoners had been taken next.

“Well, that was fast,” she stated. “It seems that the prisoners have already been tried and prosecuted. They’re being transported to an imperial prison next quintent.”

“So we only have a few vargas to prepare,” Zarkon stated and turned to leave without addressing Alfor – or any of the other paladins, for that matter. The team glanced at each other, but concluded with a shrug from Alfor that he was still mad about the heavy promise Alfor had made. None of them blamed him. If they failed this mission, the circle was probably going to ask them to stop interfering with the rebellion. While this meant they would get to go home, it also meant that they would return in shame, the humiliation of which would affect Zarkon more than anyone.

\---

Extremely soon after their debriefing, team Voltron stood ready just outside the sensors of a heavily guarded imperial prison. The ship was shaped like a giant children’s top, a giant outer ring serving as a buffer between the main building and incoming ships. Large tunnels branched from the ring into the heart of the prison, assuring that once a ship had passed inspection at the ring, nothing else could slip in undetected.

This meant, unfortunately, that they had to intercept the prison envoy before it reached the ring for inspection. This sounded easy enough on paper, but it required that the paladins attack the police vehicles out in the open, where they could easily be seen and peppered by turrets. The ring was also the most heavily guarded part of the ship, making it home to thousands of attack drones that would bear down on them the moment they were spotted.

The paladins, bracing the controls of their lions and listening to its pulsations, readied themselves for a fight.

Right on schedule, a proper line of police vehicles approached the ship. The caravan consisted of three police vessels in the front, a heavy security tank, two prisoner cars, then another tank and three police vessels behind them. The presence of the police vehicles caused all traffic in the vicinity to move aside and grant them access, while the sphere-shaped security tanks watched the prisoner cars from all sides. While their scouting eyes seemed to move in a randomized way, Gyrgan quickly recognized the pre-programmed pattern and determined when their blind spot would occur. While there were too many turrets to guarantee that he would fly in unnoticed, the security tanks were the greatest concern because of their rapid, devastating firepower.

One tick passed, then another. Then, barely moments after the alert sirens came on, a titanous yellow bullet tore past the scattered traffic and slammed into all four vehicles leading the prison envoy. Before the rear security tank could turn its gun towards the lion that had crumpled the other vehicles like tinfoil, a beam of ice arced over the ring’s security entrance, forcing the envoy to stop in its tracks and take a defensive position.

Immediately, turrets began to fire and defensive drones deployed to attack the intruders. Blocking their path, however, was a massive black lion with spread wings, guarding a red and green pair of lions who dove into the fray and plucked the two prisoner cars from the envoy. The remaining security tank, distracted by the yellow and black lions, was quickly frozen by the blue.

However, it wasn’t enough. The barrel of its gun broke free from the ice and began firing white-hot beams of plasma at the red and green lions, who quickly pressed themselves shoulder-to-shoulder while taking evasive maneuvers. Before the blue lion could charge up another ice beam, a turret peppered it in the back and caused it to spin off-course.

Suddenly targeted and unguarded, the prison’s turrets turned their fire to the red and green lions, forcing them to separate. The green lion quickly made it behind the safety of the yellow lion’s body, but the red lion broke rank, flying into the void where all imperial drones chased it to recapture their cargo.

\---

“No!” Zarkon screamed over the intercom. “Alfor! What is he doing?”

“Relax, Zarkon, we—“ Trigel’s voice cut out through the intercom as the prison’s turrets focused their bullets on the black lion, forcing it to skirt away. Quickly, he grabbed Blaytz and joined the others just in time to see the security tank land a large, devastating blow on the prisoner car Alfor was carrying. The vehicle exploded violently in the red lion’s claws, sending the ship hurling wildly through space as the drones bore down on the vulnerable paladin.

Blaytz and Zarkon leapt into action. Blaytz finished the job and froze the tank, blasting it with his lion’s cannon for good measure. Zarkon rushed the attackers closing in on Alfor with his lion’s blade, brushing away the smoke and debris so he could better see his friend. The red lion was dim and motionless, floating lazily among the scraps of the prisoner car. Zarkon took no time to mourn the prisoners who were now surely dead. He grabbed the lion and fled along with Blaytz, they and the rest of team Voltron making a hasty escape with imperial attack drones nipping at their heels.

\---

“Is he alive in there?” Zarkon demanded. Trigel’s face nodded on the communications screen. Zarkon calmed momentarily, then asked, “How many prisoners did we save?”

“All of then,” Trigel replied.

“No, including the ones in the other car.”

“All of them,” Trigel repeated. “When we realized that there were way more drones coming than we could handle, Alfor and I sidled up and transferred all the prisoners from his car to ours.”

Perplexed, Zarkon checked the life signs emanating from the prisoner car clutched in the green lion’s claws. Indeed, the signature of each and every prisoner they’d aimed to rescue was inside, albeit a little cramped.

“When did you plan this?” he demanded.

“It was spontaneous,” Trigel replied with a small bite to her voice. “And it’s a good thing we acted quickly. We had only barely transferred the prisoners when we were attacked. Although unplanned, Alfor—“

“Broke formation to lead the enemy vessels away from you,” Zarkon finished without a hint of amusement. “I see.”

Blaytz’s face appeared on the screen. “He wasn’t defying your orders, you know. He was thinking fast, that’s his job.”

“We will discuss this later,” Zarkon snapped. The team went quiet, and the faces left the screen. They travelled back to headquarters in silence, and did not discuss the matter at all.

\---

Impressed, appreciative, and frankly shocked by their feat, the rebel circle allowed the team to stay at the base overnight, despite the glaring security risks of having five giant lion ships parked nearby. An unconscious Alfor was rushed to the infirmary where they confirmed that he was fine. He was merely unconscious from the blast. Blaytz, Trigel, and Gyrgan quickly and gratefully retreated to the beds provided to them by the circle; however, Zarkon remained in Alfor’s room, standing in solemn silence while he waited for his friend to awaken.

 


	3. Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarkon does something that makes Alfor believe that there is something more between them. However, after the mission, Zarkon ignores him -- as well as everything and everyone else.

To be fair, Alfor hadn’t expected them to attack the prisoner car. Maybe he had put too much faith in the imperial army, or maybe an imperial officer had made a bad decision and was being chewed out right now for losing precious cargo. It was also possible that the prisoners themselves weren’t that important, and the tight security had been put there to attack _Voltron_ , not to guard the captive rebels.

Either way, the plasma bolt melted through the prisoner car like butter and hit the engine, causing it to explode in his lion’s claws. He remembered the initial force of the blow, then white-hot spots in his eyes as he fell unconscious. Dozing in bed, he could still taste copper in the back of his throat, but other than that, he felt fine.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The room was dark, making it feel like night, but it was impossible to tell. He opened his eyes to check for a window, but was shocked to find a large, silent figure standing at the foot of his bed, back facing him.

The figure almost startled Alfor before his eyes adjusted enough to recognize the shape as Zarkon. He immediately relaxed, unsurprised that his friend was not only watching over him while he slept, but also simultaneously pretending to ignore him. It was classic.

He didn’t alert Zarkon right away. He took the moment to take in the sight. He was so tall, an absolute brute, but elegant in his stature. He walked and talked like a king, something Alfor related to and admired. It made talking to him easier – not because they both knew the language of royalty, but because they were familiar enough with it to drop it when talking to each other. There was room for informality between them, and Alfor appreciated it more than Zarkon would ever know.

At some point, Alfor must have breathed in a little too deeply, because the Galran turned his head and caught him staring. Without comment, he faced Alfor and went to sit at the end of his bed. “Welcome back, my friend.”

“What time is it?” Alfor sat up and asked.

“Late,” Zarkon replied plainly. “The others have already retired. I’m afraid you missed dinner. I would have saved you leftovers, but leftovers don’t exist when you’re on rations.”

“Fair enough,” the king replied. “So I’ve not been out that long. Only a couple vargas?”

Zarkon nodded. “I was sure you were concussed, but the medics gave you a clean bill of health. The circle is impressed with what you did. They allowed us to stay part of the movement.”

Alfor raised a brow. “You don’t sound particularly impressed, though.”

“I’m not.” Zarkon gave him a sharp look. His yellow eyes glowed like an animal’s in the dim lighting. “You did something stupid and risky, without so much as giving me a chance to tell you no.”

“There was no time,” he retorted.

“I know,” Zarkon snapped back quickly in reply. “I know, and that’s what makes me angry.”

Alfor paused. “… You’re angry because you don’t have a reason to be angry at me?”

“It sounds pathetic when you say it like that,” the Galran muttered and turned his gaze to the wall. A moment of silence fell between them, but it was not awkward or painful. They relished it.

“I’m sorry,” Alfor finally said, quietly and gently. The statement seemed to cause Zarkon’s breath to catch for a moment, but he ultimately chose not to reply. Instead, he leaned over and braced one arm on the other side of Alfor’s head, looming over him so that the king could see nothing but his yellow eyes and the dark shape of his body against what little light there was in the room. Alfor could feel heat radiate off of him, and his calm, settled breathing against his face. He felt drawn by those eyes, hypnotized even, and didn’t move to stop the Galran when he crawled on top of him.

“Alfor.” Zarkon’s voice was softer and gentler than he had ever heard it before. Almost involuntarily, he reached up to place his hands on his chest. When Zarkon lowered himself to kiss the king, Alfor accepted it, drinking in the affection. It was addictive, like a craving he hadn’t even known he had. He spread his legs invitingly and allowed Zarkon to press his hips against him.

Soft kissing, soft rolling, soft hands. Zarkon took Alfor’s hand and entwined his larger, clawed fingers with the other’s, using the other hand to pet back the Altaean’s white hair. Alfor drew his free fingers through the fur cuffing Zarkon’s neck, then pulled him in for a deeper kiss. The Galran obliged, then began rolling himself harder against Alfor’s boxers. As the Altaean gasped beneath him, he removed his armor – all of it – and began searching for his friend’s member.

When the boxers came off, Alfor lifted his hips, ready to be taken. However, Zarkon made no move to prepare Alfor. It seemed like he had no intention of having penetrative sex, either. Regardless, Alfor relished the slow, powerful grind of Zarkon’s hips against his own. He closed his eyes and pulled kiss after kiss, an orgasm coming over them gently but strongly. Then, another orgasm. And another. He spent the night tangled in his best friend’s arms, relishing every touch, every growl, every moment of eye contact. He moaned each time he felt Zarkon’s velveteen cock pulse hard against his stomach, spilling heavily onto his chest as the Galran panted in his ear. He cried his name when he toppled over the edge himself, his own climax miniscule compared to the warrior perched above him. It was almost amusing.

When it was finished, Zarkon grabbed his armor and turned to leave. However, he paused when a tired hand grabbed his wrist. He turned back to look at the naked, half-lidded Altaean still splayed out on the bed.

“Stay,” he rasped.

Zarkon agreed. Putting his boxers back on, he locked the door and took the chair in the corner of the room. It… wasn’t what Alfor had been asking for, but he decided not to get demanding. Soon enough, he felt sleep coming over him. Eyes still on Zarkon, he drifted off into the best sleep he’d had in ages.  

\---

The rebellion dragged on for ages, then stopped so abruptly that hardly anyone could believe that it was over. After deca-phoebs of war and phoebs of Voltron involvement, the imperial government finally agreed to pull out of the system and allow the residents there to govern their own nation. Though still in power for the time being, the circle members stepped down and opened up the first election of their new democratic government. A couple of them decided to run for Circle Chairperson for their respective state, but the majority went home to their friends and family to finally lead normal lives.

Team Voltron stayed long enough to receive their formal thank-yous and attend celebrations. Then, after everything had finally settled, they packed up and left as quickly as politely possible.  

\---

“She’s beautiful,” Alfor whispered as he gazed as his newborn child. He wiped the sweat off the brow of his exhausted, smiling wife. He was exhausted as well, but nowhere near as tired as he’d been while away from home. Tears streamed both their faces as their daughter pawed blindly at her new world.

\---

Zarkon stood at the door of his wife’s lab, quiet and unobtrusive. Honerva had yet to welcome him back, even after several movements. He would have complained, but he was just happy to see her. Besides, being beside her, watching the quintessence churn beautifully in the rift below… it was hard to care about anything else. Their technology was improving at an incredible rate, and it was all thanks to the Altaean alchemist he’d married.

“Good morning, Honerva,” he said gently.

“Good morning,” she droned in reply, and said nothing further.

He loved her so much.

\---

Phoebs later, Alfor lied awake in bed, his daughter safely bundled in the nursery and his wife passed out next to him. Things had been busy, far too busy, for him to think of anything else but his kingdom and his daughter, but tonight his mind finally drifted back to Zarkon.

They had not had a conversation in movements. The last time he visited Daibazaal, Zarkon and Honerva were so enveloped in their work that they didn’t even talk to him. When he finally left, it was like they hadn’t even noticed.

Alfor’s brow furrowed, his newly acquired worry lines bundling together. He had no problem, of course, with Honerva. Zarkon was devoted to his wife, just like he was devoted to his own. However, not only was Zarkon spending nearly every waking moment with Honerva, they seemed to do little else but experiment with the rift.

The next day, Alfor sat with Blaytz, the green and yellow paladins occupied elsewhere. Drinks in hand, they chatted casually about life on their home planets. Blaytz was the master of funny stories, while Alfor gushed wildly about his sweet baby Allura. After some time, however, the conversation ran thin and Alfor’s troubled thoughts became too apparent for Blaytz to ignore.

“Is this about Zarkon?” Alfor’s frown gave all the answers he needed. “We all miss ‘im. He was gone so long, I’m guessing he’s trying to catch up on Honerva’s research.”

“Does it take movements to do that?”

“It does if you’re gone for several phoebs, and your wife works as fast as Honerva does. She didn’t exactly wait up for him.”

“I suppose…” Alfor knocked back the rest of his drink – which wasn’t really a knock-back kind of drink – and ran his hand through his long hair. “It’s just… I can’t help but feel like it correlates with something.”

“With what?” Blaytz asked, brows raised. When the king hesitated, he reached his own conclusions. “Oh. Yeah. I saw him go into your lion that one night.”

“What?” Alfor gasped, nearly falling out of his seat.

“And that one night when the door was locked in your room… yeah, it makes sense, now.”

“Well, since it was so clearly obvious to you,” Alfor drawled sarcastically, “Why don’t you give me some answers?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any,” Blaytz shrugged, scratching his gills. “I didn’t even know you and Zarkon were a thing.”

Alfor frowned and gazed into the middle distance, distracted. “I guess maybe we weren’t.”


End file.
